


Placement

by doublejoint



Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-23 06:36:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23673895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doublejoint/pseuds/doublejoint
Summary: Theo is only a marginally better sailor than Andy.
Relationships: Andy Barbour/Theodore Decker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 9





	Placement

**Author's Note:**

> what if theo's dad hadn't come back for him and theo spent the summer with the barbours au

Theo is only a marginally better sailor than Andy, but Andy supposes it’s hard to have less than his negative talent, especially when you feel like you have to feign interest.

“It doesn’t matter that much,” Andy tells Theo. “You aren’t as bad as me, and maybe if you keep me company on land they’ll agree to let us both stay back.”

It’s a perfectly accurate summation. His parents aren’t going to back out of formally getting custody of Theo just because Theo doesn’t like the water, and they’d probably cut him a little extra slack because of his trauma or because of his total unfamiliarity, on top of keeping Andy company. And part of the reason Andy’s mother adores Theo is that he makes Andy no longer the odd one out, keeps him company, lets him be alone in the spot between golden boy Platt and cute kids Kitsey and Toddy. Andy was never much of a cute kid, and Theo probably wasn’t either—a small comfort, Andy supposes.

Andy sleeps worse at the summer house, with the noises of nature, shrill cicadas and angry seagulls, too much of a jarring contrast to the city. But Theo sleeps better, even without the pills, blissfully unaware across the room on the other bed. In the dark, with his glasses off, Andy squints to see the rise and fall of his chest, the moonlight through the venetian blinds on Theo’s upturned palm. They both burn in the sun. Maybe that will let them stay inside a little longer tomorrow.

* * *

The Guitar Hero knockoff was one of the first things Andy had installed on his iPhone after he’d jailbroken it; it’s dumb and loud and bright but he keeps coming back to it, tapping his thumbs in a rhythm across the screen, and with headphones in it’s easy to keep out of the attention of his parents (Toddy, still jumping on his bed at night down the hall, has clearly not learned that lesson well enough yet). Across the room, Theo uses his phone as a flashlight to read one of the old trade paperbacks they keep on the bookshelf downstairs with a hot alien girl on the cover. The song ends, and Andy waits. The footsteps approach their door; Andy yanks the headphones from his ears and shoves his phone under his pillow almost in one motion. He’s almost too late to remember his glasses before the door creaks open. 

“Nothing from these guys. I told you, Samantha, they get up too early for it to be a problem.”

Andy’s father’s voice tapers off as he shuts the door behind him, refuting his mother’s complaints about Platt being out too late again. As if summoned by the quarrell, the sound of car tires on the drive out front drowns out any remainder of the conversation. Andy grabs his glasses and scoots to the end of the bed, peering out from the side of the blinds. Theo comes to join him, behind him on the bend, leaning over him (like he has to rub in how much taller he’s getting). The headlights on the car are off, but there’s no way they’ve been that subtle, and sure enough Platt’s not halfway out of the passenger door before the porch light turns on. Andy can see the swear Platt mouths, holding very still as to not arouse any attention (it would be impossible for Platt to see him against the brightness of the porch light, in the darkness of the room with most of his body out of frame). 

They don’t have to go near the door to hear the yelling. Platt’s been drinking; this is family time; he’s allowed to have friends, yes, but this isn’t school and when he’s under his parents’ roof he’ll follow their rules; he’s not a fucking baby. It’s the same argument they have every time, more depressing than exciting. Theo thinks the same, even though he’d missed the worst of it from before the last year at school had started; sometimes Andy thinks of asking about Theo’s parents. But it’ll be a sore subject, and he knows enough already.

“Is that what you and Tom Cable did?”

He doesn’t mean to ask--no, accuse, really--not at this moment, or in general. But curiosity gets the better of him.

Theo’s hair is mussed; there is toothpaste dried at the corner of his mouth and his glasses, hastily shoved back on, are askew. He doesn’t look angry, just like he’s deciding on how much he’s going to say, so he can try and control how much he’ll be judged.

“Not really. We took beers and stuff from people’s houses after we broke in.”

He digs his big toe into the carpet; his other foot swings. Andy shifts closer.

“Okay. Just wondering.”

“Maybe I deserved it. I did that stuff, and then she died. If I hadn’t done that, he wouldn’t have let me hang around him and we wouldn’t have gone to the museum. And maybe I wouldn’t have deserved it.”

Theo is looking at his hands, clasped in each other’s; Andy can’t think of anything to do but reach over and touch the pale of his wrist, the raised veins that connect to his hand and then submerge themselves like the 1 train between 137th and 116th, the few times Andy’s taken it that far uptown. He’s seen Theo’s eyes shift to stare beyond the empty platitudes, when his mother or someone at school has said them, when their neighbors next door, ever so curious about the new child his mother had picked up, had pried a little too far. Saying Theo didn’t deserve it won’t change his mind, even though his train of thought is illogical.

Andy is still searching for something, anything to say, but any path to an idea is broken up by the sound of Platt’s feet stomping upstairs and slamming the door behind him. When he looks back down, Theo’s wrist has turned over and his hand is clasping Andy’s.

* * *

Theo gets up early because he sleeps (most nights), but really because he wants some uninterrupted time to write to Pippa about God-knows-what. It’s perfectly understandable that Theo would want to talk to a girl, especially one who’s been through the same things as he has; it’s admirable that he’d keep up correspondence with someone lonely and vulnerable in an unfamiliar place full of unfamiliar things.

Andy gets up early because he’s a light sleeper and Theo is noisy, and because there are things to do before going sailing that he needs to do just in case he can’t get out of it. Play some fake Guitar Hero, get onto OneManga so he can read the latest Rosario+Vampire (or however much of it will load on his questionable data connection, which is perhaps the worst part about being out here in the middle of nowhere). It’s only them and his mother at breakfast this morning, her face drawn; she’s making an effort to be civil. She knows they’d heard last night.

“The grapefruit juice is very good,” says Theo. 

“It’s fresh-squeezed.” Andy’s mother’s face relaxes a fraction, and God, Theo’s good at this.

Andy grabs the Science Times, nothing particularly noteworthy this week but always worth a look and more acceptable at the breakfast table than his iPhone.

“We were thinking that we could just spend today on the beach, boys.”

She knows they’re more than okay with that. 

“Cool,” says Theo.

“Can we do it tomorrow, too?” says Andy.

(Yes, this is about Platt and his father, and all the delicate plates spinning on sticks, but he might as well get something out of it.)

“We’ll see,” says his mother.

* * *

Kitsey and Toddy are off making sand castles with the au pair; Platt doesn’t dare try and hit on her today. He’s sitting under the umbrella, dark sunglasses on, and he’d probably slipped something into his water bottle but the adults are pretending not to notice and Andy is only too happy to play along. 

Theo had fallen asleep for about half an hour, during which Andy had read through his hot alien girl book, replaced Theo’s book marker, and sat back on his hands looking at the sky. The worst part of summer is how long the days are when it’s the only kind of weather suitable for sitting out at night and looking at the stars and planets. Theo has obliged him in mapping out all the stars and constellations from their outdated children’s astronomy book, and they’ve spent other nights looking up from the patio and pointing out random shit, letters and faces and dicks and boobs and anything that could possibly be construed as a weird sex act. Clouds aren’t nearly so fun, and nothing is nearly as fun when it’s just him.

Last year, it had just been him, no book and no phone either, the thought of Theo being next to him, a constant presence next to him, wearing Platt’s hand-me-downs and placating his mother and shoving him as they both try and fit on a narrow stretch of boardwalk, one that would have been ridiculous to think of thinking. The things that had let them here hadn’t been good, but things themselves are maybe closer to okay than they’ve felt in a while. (Probably not for Theo, but even he’s been smiling and settling down a little more lately.) 

Theo rolls over, trying to sit up but like he can’t pull himself all the way yet. He looks...Andy can’t find the word. It bothers him like sand between his teeth. He’s always had a good vocabulary, always been closer to finding a description too on-the-nose than at a loss. 

“Want to go for a walk?” says Andy.

Theo nods, bleary--cute, says Andy’s mind, and then, what the fuck, says Andy’s mind.

Andy’s mother waves as they leave, Theo still slightly staggering. His shirt looks as if it had been twisted around his torso, and under the neckline Andy can see his burn fading into a solid tan line. How many weeks have they been out here? They get out two weeks before the public schools, and all the public school kids had show up two--no, three--weeks ago, just before the Fourth. There’s plenty of summer left, but all of a sudden it seems like it needs to be rationed out or they’ll lose it or waste it, dragged onto sailboats and through arguments. 

Theo shoves his hands into the pockets of his shorts, and Andy bumps his shoulder against Theo.

“What?” says Theo.

Andy shrugs.

Theo bumps him back, a little harder, and something in Andy explodes when he does it. He shoves Theo back, even harder, and Theo pushes him to the sand. He’s holding back a little; if he wanted to he could kick Andy’s ass but he’s letting Andy roll with him, giving him time to react, letting this play out, arms on arms and legs on legs, torsos on torsos, until Theo does try, a little, and pins him down, his hands stretched over Andy’s wrists. Andy is aware, suddenly, of the sharpness of his own breath, the sound of the waves receding into the water, the harsh blue of the sky above him, bright through his prescription sunglasses. And Theo’s face, flushed from the sun and from this. 

Theo could have already stolen the kiss twice over, but his hesitation is Andy’s win, just like when Andy psychs him out playing chess. So easy, to bring his mouth up, and he’s got no fucking clue what to really do with all that tongue and teeth, but Theo doesn’t either. It can’t be too hard.

**Author's Note:**

> if this book takes place late enough for andy to have an iphone it had to have been one of the first ones pre-app store when everyone was jailbreaking them


End file.
